13 Hallowed Nights: The Seventh Night
by Corvus no Genmu
Summary: "I am here as the prophecy commands me to be here for I am a Witness to its end. I shall die only when the prophecy is fulfilled and it shan't be fulfilled until either of you are dead!"


**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

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_"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son! Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."_

_"I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. I will prove my power by killing him, here and now, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight. Untie him, Wormtail… and give him back his wand."_

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**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Seventh Night:**

_"The Pride"_

By Corvus no Genmu

Harry struggled to his feet, the cut in his arm still bleeding but it was a slow and steady drip in sync with the hammering of his heart. The wound of his leg kept him leaning for support on the gravestone of Voldemort's murdered father but his grip on his wand did not slacken even as his mind raced for some viable way out of this horrifying mess. Voldemort was alive again with his power restored in a fresh body and Harry? The Boy-Who-Lived was nearing the red of magical exhaustion and he was still losing blood from two distinct wounds. It would take a miracle to get him out of this, but God wasn't listening this night… but someone else was.

It started slowly, a strange almost foreign sound that had the Death Eaters' heads snapping about like frightened dogs while their master stood calm and collected as both he and Harry turned to the sound, his servants moving to reveal a young man relaxing atop a pedestal, applauding Voldemort with slow and steady claps.

Voldemort's wand was aimed at the man's heart, a spell at the tip of his tongue but he was curious. There was no change in the smell of wind meaning that the man had been there the entire time and Voldemort had passed off his scent as nothing more than fresh rembrances laid in the graveyard. He supposed the man had been hiding under an invisibility cloak but even if that were so why hide? Why not stop his return before it begun? Obviously the man was no agent of Dumbledore's but he was no ally to Voldemort either.

"Marvelous, simply marvelous. You answered their questions and told them absolutely nothing at the same time, playing to their petty inbred beliefs like a master."

Voldemort's answering smile was a vicious one, his serpent eyes gleaming red in the night. "You speak as though you know me, but I can't say that I know you. Tell me who you are and why you are here and perhaps, I'll keep you as a servant to Nagini."

"A high honor I'm sure," drawled the young man, taking a long drink from a cup that rested by his feet. The clouds above drew across the moon and the flames were not bright enough to illuminate the young man in any detail but some features were obvious. His hair was like ivory and cut short, barely reaching the nape of his neck, and seemed to glow whenever light shined upon it but it was the man's eyes that held Harry's attention, locking him in place with an unspoken spell. They were as green as his own and were he foolish to believe, to hope, they could even be related by the similarities.

"I am Jacque and I'm here to help fulfill the prophecy."

_A prophecy…?_ thought Harry. There was a prophecy between him and Voldemort? Surely not, for Dumbledore would have told him of it… But no, the proof was already there without the words being spoken

Voldemort's eyes widened and Harry couldn't believe the raw fear in them but it was gone so quickly he passed it off as imaginary for now Voldemort's eyes were colder than ice and he stood relaxed before Jacque though his wand did not waver. "You say you know of the prophecy between Harry Potter and myself? Speak it then boy, if you dare."

Jacque took another sip from cup before reciting, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…" Jacque's eyes opened and met Voldemort's without fear. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

Jacque swirled the contents of his cup, inspecting it for a moment before taking another drink. "Rather bland as far as prophecies go but considering whom it was delivered through…" He took another sip.

Voldemort's eyes were narrowed, flitting back towards Harry and he smiled as he recognized the Full Body-Bind curse. He lowered his wand as he spoke, "Do you take me for a fool? I kill the boy like he is and my power will still be questioned."

Jacque tilted his head, his smile almost like a second moon. "You weren't listening were you? _Either must die at the _hand_ of the other_. Even your power will not end his life."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. He didn't hesitate further. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green and suddenly…

Nothing…

* * *

"I've to admit, I thought it would take more coaxing to get him to do that."

"Am I dead…?"

"Do you hear that? It's the sound of your heart not beating but then, considering where we are, it's not that surprising."

"Where are we…?"

"… Where do you think the dead go to wait before they take their final trip to the Hereafter?"

It was quick, like a light being turned on and Harry blinked rapidly at the suddenness of it. He looked around slowly and recognized the familiar Platform 9 ¾ but was confused by it. Was this the place really—?

"No, it isn't. This is what you believe it to be and so it is." Harry looked to his left and was surprised to find the man Jacque sitting beside him and with the misty light of the platform, was able to see him perfectly. Jacque couldn't have been more than nineteen at best and yet his eyes looked so old, like they had seen things that would have most men running in fear. His clothes were almost muggle-like only that they resembled a wizard's standards if that wizard had to constantly go between the magical world and the muggle one.

"You… I don't know who you are but you can—"

"Relax." Jacque pushed Harry back down onto the bench with startling ease. "In case you haven't noticed. You're not all the way dead yet."

"But I'm about to be! … Aren't I?"

"That is why I'm here. I'm going to give you something you haven't had in a long time. I'm going to give you a choice." The Hogwart's Express whistled shrilly, steam puffing out from its engine. It was preparing for departure. "You can enter that train and go where you're bound to be, or you can go back and finish this fight with Voldemort and finally be able to have a normal life. Well, as normal as a wizard's life can be I suppose."

"Finish the fight?" repeated Harry, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that? He's killed me hasn't he?"

Jacque shook his head. "I've planted the seed of doubt in him and should you arise, it will bloom. He will not fight you magic to magic. He'll do exactly as the prophecy says; he'll fight you hand-to-hand…" Jacque suddenly smiled viciously, and Harry started at the familiarity of it, "or rather, sword-to-sword."

"… But if I don't want to go back? If I want to go on?"

Jacque shrugged. "I won't stop you."

Harry stared at Jacque in silence for a long moment. "Why are you doing this? You're obviously powerful, why can't you do what Dumbledore can't and just stop him on your own!"

Jacque turned to gaze at the train. "I hold no love for the wizards of this continent, not anymore. They've forgotten the truth about magic and its citizens. They've deluded themselves into thinking that magic is a right but they're wrong. Your kind is _privileged_ to possess magic and if they keep abusing it as they have been, demeaning it with their rules and regulations, binding and corralling its true citizens like they have…"

Jacque shook his head. "But that is not my concern or my problem." He turned to face Harry again. "If you choose to go back, I shall help you with _all_ that I can, but in return I want something of yours. Something that shouldn't be in your possession anyway."

"But if I don't go back?"

Jacque laughed and the sound of it echoed throughout the otherwise silent platform. He was slowly fading away, starting from the bottom of his feet. "If you have to ask… then you already know the answer." And he was gone.

Harry sat at the bench for what could have been eternity for what was time in this realm? In actuality it was only long enough for Harry to rise to his feet, his wand appearing in his hand and vanishing just like Jacque before him. He never saw the small form of a mutilated creature that he left behind, the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had resided unknowingly inside him for most of his life. The thing's mouth was wide as it screamed its silent cries as burning chains and hooks ensnared its skin and dragged it away into a burning abyss as the last vestiges of the platform vanished into oblivion.

* * *

_Do not move until I tell you. Allow the Slytherin in you a chance to play._ Harry would have groaned at the words that seemed to pound in his head but the very idea of doing anything itself was painful enough for the young wizard. So he waited and listened. He had been expecting shouts of triumph, cries of victory… Imagine Harry's surprise at hearing hushed whispers, disquieting murmurs.

"My Lord…!"

"That will do…" Voldemort's voice sounded strange, weakened almost but it was strengthening. The snake-like man rose slowly to his feet, his eyes sparkling with anger and the gathered Death Eaters stepped back en masse. "The boy… is he dead?"

_Now Harry!_ Suddenly filled with renewed strength, his wounds healed as old scars, Harry Potter rose to his feet. "No, the boy is not!"

The Death Eaters recoiled back as far as they dared and Wormtail, the simpering coward, skittered back into the shadows like the rat that he was. Voldemort stared in open astonishment at Harry who stood not only alive but _healed_! By the Killing Curse! It was impossible!

Jacque applauded once more, just as slowly as before and this time sporting a sad, defeated smile. "There, you see? You cannot kill him with magic."

Evidently, Voldemort did not believe him for his wand was up and another Killing Curse was shot not at Harry, but at Jacque.

The young man's torso vanished like mist being blown away and the spell passed harmlessly through. He solidified once more and glared at the stunned Dark Lord. "Do _not_ do that again." Jacque rose to his feet, setting his cup down atop the gravestone. "I am here as the prophecy commands me to be here for I am a Witness to its end. I shall die only when the prophecy is fulfilled and it shan't be fulfilled until either of you are _dead!_"

Jacque made a passing gesture and twin bolts of lightning struck the earth between Voldemort and Harry, revealing a pair of swords the likes of which took their breaths away for very different reasons. The first sword, the one resting blade down at Voldemort's feet was the most hideous sword that Harry had ever seen. It was a large blade, a zweihander by shape and design, but save for the bloodied steel of the blade proper, it was almost entirely organic with a large demonic eye gazing hungrily at the gathered souls around it.

His gaze went down at the sword before him and he felt his spirit lifting just at the mere sight of the crystalline blade of azure diamond's edge and ethereal light. If the other blade was to be made for evil, than this sword before Harry was for the just and good of heart for surely a sword as beautiful as this could do no evil.

"Soul Edge and Soul Calibur…" whispered Voldemort.

"Both of them can be yours," said Jacque, slowly backing away. "Provided you live, of course." The swords pulsed with their respected energies before suddenly flying through the air to the hands of those closest to them. With a start and reflexes of a Seeker, Harry grasped the hilt of Soul Calibur and in that very instant, the voice of Soul Calibur spoke to him. "_This is the day the Boy-Who-Lived dies… so that Harry Potter may live._"

At that same moment, Voldemort took hold of the demonic Soul Edge and like Harry, heard the wicked blade's voice echoing in his mind. "**This is the day Lord Voldemort dies… so that a new god may live!**"

Emerald became azure and red became like fire as the two swords joined as one with their wielders. Harry and Voldemort stood like statues, their heads bowed as the energy of the swords pulsed like a pair of rapid heartbeats until the glow was constant and in that instant, Harry and Voldemort _moved_.

Harry was like lightning, flitting about Voldemort with Soul Calibur dicing the graves around them with every swing he made against the dark wizard, but where Harry's had the agility, it was Voldemort's sword that possessed the power. The ground around him was cleaved with the tiniest of swings and heads almost rolled as Voldemort returned the attack back upon Harry with startling speed despite the massiveness of the Soul Edge.

The Death Eaters scrambled away from the combatants, some only just escaping with their limbs intact. Jacque just retook his seat atop the unmarked grave and took to admiring the ring that adorned his finger enjoying the last few gulpfuls of wine as the battle continued before him.

Harry was the faster of the two but a single swing by Voldemort was well worth twelve of his own. Voldemort was covered in a multitude of cuts but the man didn't so much as slow down in his berserker-like state, but the voice of Soul Calibur still whispered to Harry. "_See his soul, Little One. It is a mere piece of what it once was. He will not stand long for Soul Edge has devoured two pieces of it already. He hungers for a third._"

_What does that mean?_ Harry ducked beneath a swing that would have lopped off his head and rolled away from a downward strike the cleaved a gravestone in half. _Is that how he's survived all this time? Breaking his soul apart and leaving it in pieces?_

"_Yes. It is a forbidden art and with good reason. You see what it has done to his body; imagine what has been done to his soul._" Harry slashed at Voldemort's free arm, cutting a deep gash into it and rendering it useless but still Voldemort did not acknowledge the pain, his mind all but devoured by Soul Edge. "_In fact… there is a piece now._"

There was a sudden loud cracking noise and all eyes turned to Jacque. He was still admiring his ring but his other hand was full of very big, and very much dead, Nagini. The snake's neck had been snapped back along her spine and knowing nothing more could be done with the thing, Jacque tossed the carcass aside. "And then… there was one…" His emerald eyes locked with Harry's own. "Finish Him."

Nothing more was needed. The loss of Nagini broke through Soul Edge's hold enough to allow Voldemort's rage and loss through and with it came the pain of his wounds. His scream was cut halfway through as the top half of his head went flying into the graveyard to land at Jacque's feet. The young man stared at it in disgust but his eyes went up to meet the gathered Death Eaters as Wormtail, dear traitorous little Wormtail, voiced their shared thought aloud.

"Y-Y-You said you'd d-di-disappear…"

"About that…" Soul Edge's eye shined and the Dark Mark shined like fresh blood on the forearms of the Death Eaters. They screamed in pure agony before collapsing to the ground, all alive but now they shared a fate similar to their fallen Dark Lord. By accepting the Dark Mark, they had accepted a sliver of the wicked wizard's soul and Soul Edge devoured those pieces with interest. Most would not survive the night and the rest would be doomed to a half-life, a cursed life.

"I lied. I do that sometimes."

Soul Edge's eye closed in satisfaction and it vanished into a glowing red ball and vanished away into the night. Harry, panting for breath and just short of collapsing to the ground, fell heavily against a nearby grave marker as he felt a gentle caress across his forehead before Soul Calibur followed in the wake of her brother, a soft azure light vanishing away into the darkness.

Jacque watched them go, seeing farther into the darkness than even a wizard's eyes could go and nodded his thanks before turning his attention back to Harry. He rose and slowly walked over to the boy who futilely struggled to keep his eyes open even as darkness edged at the corners of his vision. He leaned in close, his voice a faint whisper on the winds.

"When he asks you why…"

* * *

_… A familiar ceiling…_ Harry tiredly blinked away the dust in his eyes and slowly sat up in the bed that had all but been reserved for him the Hospital Wing.

"Hey, he's awake!" Harry winced, wishing that wasn't the case as blurred faces appeared hovering over him as they all started to talk at once when he interrupted them.

"Someone hand me my glasses, please?" A hand steadied him as his glasses were placed carefully over his nose. "Thanks Hermione… How did I…?"

"That man, Jacque, brought you here," said Hermione, looking worried. "Harry, we, we saw everything. Everyone at the stadium saw it…"

Harry gulped, a pit suddenly opening up in his stomach. "They saw…?"

Neville nodded. "Right before you and Cedric agreed to take the cup together a big ball appeared above the pitch. It was like one of those muggle things… a telly?" He asked Hermione for confirmation.

She nodded and continued, "We saw everything Harry… Everyone that was there to watch the Third Task saw You-Know-Who's return."

"His end you mean!" Ron laughed but it didn't reach his eyes. "The Ministry's chaos over it… they rounded up the Death Eaters that showed up at the graveyard… those that were alive anyway…"

Ginny nodded. "Dad's probably not going to be home for _months_. Minister Fudge wants that man, Jacque, dead or alive. At least that means Padfoot can get a break…"

"What? Why would they—?" asked Harry before he realized. "The swords…"

Hermione nodded and he saw now the fear in her eyes. "Harry… those swords, there's not much written about them but what I could find… Harry, it was terrible! No one should have that kind of power and Jacque has them _both_!"

"He doesn't." Luna shook her head, pale golden locks swishing. "It doesn't matter anyway… The Ministry will never be able to capture him." She sighed sadly. "They could should be searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

Hermione stared incredulously at the younger girl. "Luna! That man _stole_ from Harry and Dumbledore! He should be found and—"

"Wait!" interrupted Harry. "What did he steal from me?"

A wizened old voice answered him. "Your father's invisibility cloak… and my wand I'm sad to say." Albus Dumbledore walked into the room with his eyes empty of their usual twinkle and a strange weight setting heavily upon his shoulders. "Best be off to bed before Madame Pomfrey returns from giving Minister Fudge some much needed Calming Potion."

Though hesitant, Harry's friends heeded Dumbledore's unspoken request and with bids of farewells and promises to talk again first thing in the morning, they left the Hospital Wing.

Dumbledore watched them go and spoke before Harry had chance to. "The man within Hogwarts has already been taken care of, Harry. Jacque's fiancée saw to that." The Headmaster turned his eyes to Harry and the boy found his eyes locked with the old man's. "Harry… why did you do it? Why did you agree to give your invisibility cloak to Jacque?"

Unbidden, the answer came from Harry's mind and he spoke them clearly. "He said… Because Death's gifts shouldn't be abused…" He swallowed, "and that Death… always gets back what's his. It's only a matter of time…"

* * *

_Humility shatters the false ideals built of pride's arrogance._


End file.
